Bee My Valentine, Sherlock
by Dreamin
Summary: Someone has sent Sherlock meaningful gifts in mid-February and Sherlock is determined to figure out who. Set the Valentine's Day after "His Last Vow." Sherlolly.


A/N: This was inspired by a post on Tumblr - someone suggested giving boys flowers because they blush and stammer and generally look cute. So, a little Sherlolly fluff for Valentine's Day.

* * *

It wasn't often that someone managed to completely surprise Sherlock Holmes. He could count the number of times it had happened on one hand. That, however, was before someone managed to surprise him twice.

In one day.

The first surprise was that morning. Morning for Sherlock, mid-afternoon for the rest of London. He stumbled out of his bedroom and into the kitchen, wearing his oldest dressing gown over a t-shirt and pajama pants. He idly wondered why his feet were cold then remembered it was mid-February and thus winter. Stumbling back to his bedroom, he found his slippers at the bottom of his closet then went back to the kitchen.

It was then that he noticed the breakfast that had been laid out for him – a pomegranate on a plate, already cut in half, and a pot of tea under a tea cozy. When he removed the tea cozy, instead of Mrs. Hudson's floral teapot, he found a honey-colored ceramic teapot with a honeycomb design and a honeybee on the lid. Lifting the lid, he could smell his usual English Breakfast tea. Pouring himself a cuppa, he put the cozy back on the teapot then took his tea and plate of pomegranate to the sitting room. Sitting down at the table, he considered his breakfast while he ate.

 _Obviously, whoever gave me the teapot knows about my interest in bees. Since that information isn't widely known, it narrows the list of "suspects" considerably. John knows since he has more than once refused to let me ask Mrs. Hudson if I can keep a beehive on the roof. I seriously doubt it was him, though – he would have no reason to give me a teapot today. Unless he just found out about my birthday, five and a half weeks late. Doubtful._

 _Mrs. Hudson, then? She's a generous soul, that alone might be enough to give me my own teapot, and she knows about my interest in bees since I had to consult an apiarist in Florida to help the prosecution's case against her husband. I'll keep her on the list._

Having finished half of the pomegranate, he picked up the other half and considered it. _Pomegranate._ Punica granatum. _Native to Iran, now found in several parts of the world. The seeds are considered an excellent source of dietary fiber. This doesn't explain why someone would prepare one for me._ He was about to enter his Mind Palace when his eyes landed on a little-used book in a stack on the desk – a flower language dictionary.

Sherlock removed the book from the stack, opened it, and started flipping through pages. Finding the entry on pomegranates, he felt his cheeks redden as he read it. "Apparently, the pomegranate is a symbol of love, passion, and intellect, as well as an aphrodisiac."

"Dare I ask?" came John's amused voice from the doorway.

Sherlock jumped slightly from the unexpected intrusion, spilling his tea. He mopped up the spilled tea with a napkin as he shot John a dirty look. "Don't you have a wife to bother?"

His former flatmate laughed softly. "Mary's still at work, I have the rest of the day off." John took in Sherlock's attire and the items on the table as he sat down across from him. "You're just eating breakfast now?"

Sherlock waved a hand in dismissal. "You know I keep to my own schedule, not society's."

"Uh huh. And how long were you lurking on message boards last night?"

"Long enough to bemoan the future of the English language," Sherlock muttered. "But enough about that. I need your help, John." He saw John's eyes light up at the prospect of a new case. _He must be so very bored at the clinic._

"What's up?"

"First, go to the kitchen. There's a bee-themed teapot under the cozy. Bring it out here."

John got up and did as he was told, looking utterly confused as he carried the teapot to the table and sat down again. "This is for a case?"

"Not a case, someone left that for me today. And this." He pointed to the pomegranate half with his spoon. "I need to know who would leave me these things, John. I've already decided it wasn't you."

John raised an eyebrow and looked at Sherlock like he was the village idiot. Sherlock was used to that look from his best friend, it usually meant he had overlooked some societal nicety or other.

"Do you even know what day it is?" John asked, sounding incredulous.

"Wednesday?"

"Not even close, but that's not what I'm asking."

Sherlock racked his brain. "It's some day in the middle of February."

John reached over and grabbed the Famous Murders page-a-day calendar from the desk, flipping the pages until he reached the current date, then set it in front of Sherlock.

"The St. Valentine's Day Massacre?" Sherlock read aloud, even more confused. "What does an eighty-six-year-old mass-murder have to do with this teapot?"

John let out an exasperated sigh. "Not the murder, you git, the date. What's today's date?"

Sherlock looked at the calendar again. "February 14th."

John nodded, smirking a bit. "Valentine's Day. Which means…"

Sherlock was saved from replying by the sound of someone knocking on the front door. Both men stopped to listen, both desperately hoping it was a client. They could hear Mrs. Hudson talking to a man but couldn't make out the exact words. A few minutes later, they heard her distinct tread coming up the stairs. She soon appeared in the doorway, holding a bouquet of flowers in a clear glass vase.

"Sherlock! Look what someone sent you!" Mrs. Hudson said, beaming.

Sherlock stared at the flowers in disbelief. "Are you sure they're for me?"

"Yes," she said firmly, setting the bouquet on the table. "The delivery boy said they were for Mr. Sherlock Holmes."

"Did they say who they were from?" John asked, more amused than Sherlock had ever seen him.

"He didn't know." She smiled a bit. "Well, if you two boys don't need anything, I have a date."

"Enjoy dinner with your railroad pensioner," Sherlock said distractedly, his eyes on the flowers.

Mrs. Hudson just shook her head in amazement as she left the flat. John turned back to Sherlock, smirking again.

"You know who it is, right?" he asked.

Sherlock turned to him, his eyes a bit glazed. "Her date? Of course I do, he's a retired railroad worker, it's obvious from-"

John cut him off mid-deduction. "Not him, the person sending you these gifts."

"I… No, I don't," he admitted sheepishly.

John glanced at the flowers again, smiled a bit, then looked at Sherlock. "Well, I'm sure it won't take long for you to figure out." He stood up. "I should get going, I just stopped by to say hi. I'm taking Mary out to dinner. Have to pay the sitter double her usual rate since it's a holiday, but it'll be worth it."

Sherlock smiled a bit. "You should have no problems since I have no intention of being there, in or out of costume."

John smirked. "Right. Call me tomorrow, I want to know all about the sender."

"What makes you think I'll know tomorrow?"

"I think you'll know tonight, but you'll be a bit too busy to call." John chuckled to himself as he left the flat.

With him gone, Sherlock was free to give the bouquet his undivided attention. _A dozen blooms altogether: a mix of peony, sweat pea, chrysanthemum, forget-me-not, stock, and these odd two-color roses – yellow with red tips._ He was about to delve into his scientific knowledge of each species but decided the flower dictionary was a more appropriate resource.

After reading all the relevant entries, Sherlock was blushing again. "If I have it right," he said to the bouquet, "you mean that someone out there has a secret, is looking for lasting pleasure, has hope in dark times, doesn't want me to forget them, wants a happy life, and is my friend but is falling in love with me."

"That about covers it," said a familiar female voice from the doorway.

Sherlock's head jerked up in that direction, surprise making his blush fade as his eyes met Molly's. She was as nervous as he'd ever seen her, biting her lower lip hard and clutching her bag to her chest. Sherlock got up from the table but didn't move any closer to her. It was Molly who closed the distance between them, slowly approaching him, her eyes never leaving his face.

"Did you like your breakfast?" she asked softly when she was a foot away from him.

Sherlock felt his blush coming back full force as he thought of the pomegranate and its meaning. "Er, yes, thank you. I quite enjoyed the teapot."

"And the pomegranate?" Molly asked hopefully. She looked down to see the other half still uneaten on his plate. "You didn't finish it."

"I was going to but I was … distracted," he admitted.

"By John? I just ran into him on the stairs."

"By the symbolism of the pomegranate," he said, tapping the flower dictionary with one finger. At Molly's surprised look, Sherlock added quickly, "I assumed you knew the symbolism, that's why you chose a pomegranate instead of some other fruit."

"Oh, I knew, and that is why I chose it," she said, smiling weakly. "I'm just surprised that you would take symbolism into consideration." She reached over to pull a single seed off the peel and, with her eyes on Sherlock's, popped it into her mouth.

Sherlock felt his own mouth go dry. "I, er, assume the bouquet was a custom order. Most ready-made bouquets these days are done with little regard to the language of flowers."

"Of course," she said, popping another seed into her mouth. "A dozen red roses just wasn't enough to say everything I wanted to say to you."

He nodded then turned to look at the bouquet, suddenly unable to meet her eyes. He delicately touched a petal of one of the peonies. "The secret?"

"The one we shared – that you had faked your suicide. Those had to be the two most difficult years of my life." He saw her hand reach out to take another seed.

Sherlock touched one of the chrysanthemums. "Your hope in dark times?"

"You, Sherlock," she said softly, then took another seed. "Whether it was those two years you were in hiding or now, I know that as long as you live, there's hope."

"The forget-me-nots are self-explanatory. I assume the 'happy life' the stock symbolizes is what you want with me." He cleared his throat before he touched a sweet pea. "Er, lasting pleasure?"

Sherlock plainly heard the amusement in her voice. "I'm dying to know if the rumors are true, Sir Shag-A-Lot."

He turned to face her so fast, he nearly gave himself whiplash. Molly burst out laughing.

"Your face! I've never seen you so shocked." She giggled as she took another pomegranate seed and popped it into her mouth.

Sherlock took one of her hands in his, gazing at her as he asked softly, "And the roses? They're quite unusual, yellow with red edges."

Molly gazed back at him, smiling softly. "I could have done a bouquet with just those, really. We're friends, that will never change. When we first met, I had a huge crush on you, but you probably knew that." At his nod, she went on. "The crush went away as I got to know you as a friend, but it didn't take long to realize I was falling in love with you too." She dropped her gaze to their hands, murmuring, "I know you don't do romantic attachments, Sherlock, but do you think you could reconsider?"

Sherlock brought his free hand up to gently raise her chin so their eyes met. "I have reconsidered," he said softly. "I want to be with the one person who knows me better than anyone else, and yet still wants me as a friend and so much more. The one person I … love."

He lowered his head to kiss her softly and he was thrilled when Molly kissed him back. She was grinning happily when the kiss ended and Sherlock felt himself returning her grin.

"How are we going to spend the rest of Valentine's Day?" she asked.

"I can think of quite a few ways," he responded, smirking a bit. "That is, if you're staying."

Molly reached down to take a sixth pomegranate seed, popping it into her mouth. "Of course I'm staying."

* * *

A/N: I found the bee teapot online and thought it would be perfect for Sherlock. I just had to throw in a reference to the myth of Hades & Persephone.


End file.
